


Tinsel Teaser

by Batsymomma11



Series: Blark Files [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Petting, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slash, SuperBat, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 07:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: It's a week before Christmas and Clark is done pretending the kiss didn't happen. Because it definitely did and he'd like to do it again.





	Tinsel Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own DC or its characters. I do own this story. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and enjoy!

There were certain sounds that just screamed Christmas to Clark. Bells, the crush of fresh snow underfoot, wind slapping at shutters on a dreary white-bitten day. Clark kept his radio dialed to the station that played Christmas carols for the entire month of December. By the end of the month, he wasn’t just humming carols, he was dreaming in them.

And he liked it that way.

Clark liked to inundate himself with Christmas cheer and festivities until he felt drunk off of it. He liked to decorate with gaudy lights and colorful tinsel. He liked to wear the green and red sweaters his mother made him and to send out Christmas cards. Clark was more than just fond of the holiday season, he was a little on the obsessed side of things.

But this year, this year was different.

For many, many reasons.

Clark swirled the hot cider Alfred had offered him and sipped absently at it, only half-listening to the consistent slice of paper and cut of tape. They were more sounds that Clark associated with Christmas. Wrapping presents was as much a tradition to Clark as Christmas Eve dinner or Christmas Day brunch.

Bruce had gotten about three presents wrapped in the last hour and had a sizeable stack to his left that would take the remainder of the evening. Every year, for the last five years, Bruce invited Clark over to help him wrap the presents. After all, they weren’t just for the boys, but also the League and Clark’s Ma. They were for anyone and everyone Bruce Wayne or Batman ever came into contact with.

The pile of gifts was a little laughable. And it seemed to grow every year.

Clark learned after the first year, that his presence was more of a perfunctory one. He wasn’t actually needed. If he tried to wrap a present, even if he did it with the utmost care, Bruce would find something wrong with it and redo it.

Bruce was absolutely, one of _those_ people who wrapped their gifts like it was their mission in life. He creased the paper before folding it with his thumbnail, used the same size piece of tape for every single gift and measured his cuts with a tape measure. He wasn’t just compulsive about the whole gift-wrapping ordeal—he was religious. So, Clark learned a long time ago, that his job was just to drink Alfred’s cider, watch Bruce wrap gifts, and to provide a moderate amount of stimulating conversation.

Though not too much. Bruce didn’t want to be distracted and God-forbid, put a wrinkle in the glossy wrapping paper.

Clark pursed his lips, considering Bruce with a narrowed gaze as the man hunched over a box set of Star Trek with a tape measure and gold wrapping paper.

“I don’t like that color.”

“I do.”

Clark smirked, “It won’t match the gift.”

Bruce considered a moment, then exchanged the gold paper for red. “Better?”

Clark nodded. He didn’t give two shits about which color paper Bruce chose but over the course of the last hour he’d decided to make it his mission to be as obnoxious to Bruce as Bruce was being to him. Clark wasn’t usually in the business of playing petty nonsensical games. But it was a week till Christmas, he was sitting stiffly in a chair he’d sat countless times before, and he was just about finished pretending that the kiss between he and his best friend never happened.

He’d given Bruce time. In all honesty, Clark had needed a moment to gather his own thoughts. Mostly because the kiss had seemed to come out of nowhere.

Sure, Clark had imagined kissing Bruce countless times over the years of their friendship. If he was being unflinchingly honest, he would say he’d imagined a great deal more than kissing Bruce. But those imaginings had been in passing, amidst great things like logic and self-preservation. He knew who Bruce was and what he was like and how he reacted to things like ‘feelings’. Clark wasn’t a fool.

“The cider is good.”

Bruce hummed.

“You made that one three millimeters longer than the other side.”

“What?” Bruce’s eyes darted up to Clark’s and held for a breath, then dropped to search the paper with irritation. “I just measured it.”

“It’s longer. Trust me.”

Bruce growled low, then moved to cut off the offending three millimeters.

Just. Like. Clockwork.

The man couldn’t stand even the possibility of anything less than perfection. And maybe that was why Clark was feeling so sour and bitter tonight. Maybe that was why his heart was beating in the shells of his ears and flushing his cheeks with too much color. Because Bruce couldn’t do anything that wasn’t perfect, or neat, or fit into some preconceived box that was comfortable.

Clark and Bruce—together? That wouldn’t be neat at all. It would be messy.

Maybe that was why Clark was wading in, knowing full-well that Bruce would sense the ambush a mile away. And that he would likely run, like he’d been running from what happened in the watchtower gym over a week previous.

Clark took another long sip of cider, swirling the sour apple flavor of it around in his mouth, willing himself to forget the way Bruce’s mouth had tasted.

Like cinnamon gum.

He wished that flavor wasn’t burned into his memory and that it didn’t make his hands twitch or his belly hollow at the vivid thirty-second memory of Bruce kissing him senseless. Hands grasping wildly at sweaty clothes and a fist in his hair. Panting breaths and startled fire burning in those goose-feather eyes.   

“This is to going to take you all night.”

“Got somewhere else to be?”

“Not really.”

Bruce frowned, pushing his glasses down onto his nose from his forehead to cut a perfectly neat square around a box of Lucky Charms. There was no one else those could be for, except for Dick.

Clark settled more heavily into his favorite chair, a leather wingback with pretty silver studs that lined the arms and head, then sighed loud enough to make Bruce’s right eye twitch. It wouldn’t take much. Not much at all. And Clark knew all the tells. All the little irritating things that drove Bruce up a wall.

That’s what happened when you’d been friends for as long as they had.

So, he started jiggling a leg, jouncing the fourteen cents he had in his pocket. It jingled prettily as backdrop to the crackling fire. Bruce would think it sounded like nails on a chalk board. He timed his sighs to occur once every twenty-three seconds, just to make a point. And then Clark started chattering about work, in a bland mind-numbing way, even going so far as to discuss which hair piece looked better on Bob the Planet’s chief sanitary officer. The man was really a janitor. Clark had no idea why they bothered changing the name when everyone already knew—

“Clark—”

“Yes?” Clark stopped, looking up innocently from his cider, “Something wrong?”

The stack of finished presents wasn’t nearly as large as it should have been considering Bruce had been at it for a solid three hours. Usually, he’d have a few left by midnight and he’d offer to let Clark help him finish them off. They might even take in ice cream in the Solarium, where they could star gaze.

Somehow, Clark didn’t see that happening this time.

“Are you upset with me?”

“Upset?”

Bruce’s jaw flexed, the muscle jumping beneath tanned skin as he tore off his glasses then started putting away the various scissors and tape accoutrements he’d gathered.

“You’re not done yet.”

“No.”

“You don’t want to finish?” Clark asked, unfolding from the chair, putting aside his empty mug. “You always finish. I can’t remember a time where you didn’t.”

Bruce was still kneeling, sitting on his heels, but he looked about ready to spring at Clark and start choking him. Clark almost, almost smiled. The feeling was mutual.

“You’ve been doing your damndest, to make me miserable.”

“Have I?”

“Really?” Bruce growled, one brow lifting, “We’re going to play this game?”

Clark did smile then, because his stomach was in knots and if he didn’t do _something_ he was going to be the one to run. “What game?”

“We’re not children.”

“Oh really? Then why have you been acting like one for the last week?”

There. He’d said it. He’d done the unpardonable and mentioned the elephant in the room.

Any lingering holiday cheer or softness to their conversation immediately flattened. The room fell deadly quiet, so quiet, it was no trouble at all to hear how fast Bruce’s heart was racing, stabbing into his ribs like it was desperate to free itself. Clark’s was doing the same.

“We talked about that.”

Clark swallowed down the gut reaction to hurt and gave himself a beat to think about how best to respond. Because he needed to respond. He needed to do much more than he had in the watchtower gym. When Bruce had kissed him, he’d been stunned, yes. But he’d also been weak-kneed and had his brains leaking out of his ears.

Bruce hadn’t given him more than a handful of seconds to try and find coherent speech after the kiss, let alone argue about the unilateral decision to simply ‘forget’ what had just happened between them.

That wasn’t going to happen this time. He’d come prepared. And he was a little too pissed off to back down now.

“No,” Clark chewed the inside of his cheek, “You talked about it. For half a minute I might add and told me what was going to happen. That isn’t talking about it.”

Bruce’s eyes were down on the floor, flickering quickly over the wrapped presents that were between them that made the room feel about a mile wide. “It was a mistake.”

“Yes, you said it was.”

“Then why are we having this conversation right now? I said it was a mistake and it was.”

“Because I don’t agree.”

Bruce’s head jerked up, “What?”

Clark pushed to the edge of his seat and forced his himself not to squirm. “Did I stutter Bruce? Did I speak too softly for you?”

“I—” Bruce blinked a few times, then sat back heavily onto his rump, “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“You knew how to respond when you were kissing me brainless.”

“Jesus.”

Clark shrugged, “I’m tired of dancing around what I really want to say and pretending like I don’t remember what it was like. Because I do. And it’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“Clark, just because I—I had a lapse in judgement, doesn’t mean we should throw away a friendship—”

“Wait, throw away? What are you talking about Bruce?”

Bruce’s brow wrinkled, “Yes, throw away. That’s what happens.”

“Can lovers not also be friends?”

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, God knows what, but only managed a choked noise.

“Yes, that’s what I said. I won’t unsay it. No matter how detrimental it could be to us.”

“You—you think we should be lovers?”

“Well, that depends a little on how you feel. But after the way you kissed me in the gym, I feel it’s safe to say we have chemistry. You’re my best friend. I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust you. I spend all my time with you already. It makes sense. It’s logical. I’m attracted, you’re attracted. Why not?”

“Logical?” Bruce’s voice sounded pinched, “It makes sense? Why not? Good God Clark, you’re delusional. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense at all. What happened, was foolish and reckless. It was—” Clark could see Bruce’s Adam’s apple working as he struggled to swallow, and it was horrendously distracting, “It was pleasurable, yes, but it was a mistake. Our friendship is sacred to me and adding that level of intimacy would undoubtedly end in disaster. You’d hate me when it was all said and done.”

“You’re scared.”

Bruce’s eyes latched onto Clark’s and held. “Damn right I am.”

“Every relationship has risks.”

“This one would have too many for me.”

“Bruce,” Clark risked kneeling, just a couple of presents now separating them from touching. His hands were shaking but he didn’t think Bruce could tell past his own obvious panic. The man was looking at Clark like he was some sort of demonic overlord come to enslave him. “We already care about each other. A lot.”

“Yes.”

“More than I’d say a great deal of friends generally do.”

Bruce’s eyes danced over Clark’s face, his pupils expanding as Clark moved even closer, pushing aside the presents that blocked him. “Maybe.”

“We could do this. We could make this work.”

“Clark,” Bruce stopped Clark’s progress with a hand firmly on his chest. The heat from that hand alone felt like delicious fire lapping at his skin. Clark had to stop himself from leaning into the touch.

“I have a family to think about.”

“I know. And I love the boys.”

“Yes,” Bruce licked his lips, “But—it would change everything. And you think you know me, you think you understand me now, but I’m different in a romantic relationship. In fact, I’m not good at them. Ask anyone. I’m terrible with commitment. You should know this.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I sleep in the middle of the bed. I work terrible hours. I never call. I brood for days on end and snap over meaningless things. I’m not good at sharing feelings or knowing what to say and God, Clark, stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Bruce glared, “Like I’m something you want to eat. You’re not even listening to what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Bruce,” Clark said his name softly, laying a hand harmlessly on one of Bruce’s shoulders. When Bruce didn’t shy away from it, Clark let his thumb gently rub over the cotton, in soothing circles. “I already know all these things about you. I’ve been your friend for a long time. I know how you are. I know who you are.”

“Not from the inside. It will be different. You’ll hate me.”

“No,” Clark mused, narrowing the gap even further between them. Now all he needed to do was dip his head and he’d have his mouth on Bruce’s again. He wondered if he would taste like cinnamon again. If the kiss would feel as desperate as before or if it would feel soft like the firelight dancing over them now. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Again?” Bruce blinked, “I—I kissed you first.”

“Alright, can I kiss you this time?”

“I—” Bruce’s eyelids fluttered, and he swayed, just enough that Clark took it as a yes.

Clark sighed into the kiss.

It was better than his imaginings. Better than the almost feverish quality of the first kiss, because this one, Clark was aware of every nuance. He could _feel_ the shiver that went down Bruce’s spine when Clark tugged him flush, hip to hip. He could _hear_ Bruce’s heartbeat, a staccato drum in his ears, urging him and yet steadying him as he molded their mouths together.

The kiss stretched. Seconds dripped into minutes and it didn’t take long for Clark to have Bruce pushed down on the floor amidst crinkling wrapping paper and snippets of tape and curling ribbon. Clark was scarcely aware of when he started to nibble down Bruce’s jaw and found that soft skin in his neck, but the sound Bruce made when his lips lingered on his pulse made Clark absolutely frantic for more.

_More, More, More._

His brain was a caveman chanting wildly for more skin. More heat. More kissing. Just more. He heard buttons popping and something that sounded like fabric tearing, but he was only vaguely aware of it. His focus was on Bruce. Bruce’s skin. His smell. The way Bruce was grabbing at his clothes and pulling on his hair. It was almost—too much.

Like they’d been stashing all these feelings and desires for so many years that Clark was going to implode with them.

If Bruce hadn’t been partially in his right mind, Clark would have probably kept going.

“Wait, wait.”

“Sorry.”

“No—” Bruce panted, “It’s OK. Just—I need a minute.”

At some point Clark’s shirt had gotten untucked and his sweater vest was rucked up to his armpits. If he didn’t feel so drunk, Clark might have blushed at how ridiculous he had to look. Bruce didn’t look much better.

Flushed, with his hair standing on end from Clark’s groping, and a big hickey on his neck, Bruce looked about as ravished as someone could get without having had sex. Clark wasn’t ashamed in the least that he’d made Bruce look like that. Not at all.   

“Wow.”

Bruce was still laying on the floor and he moved to cover his face with an arm. “Clark, why did you do that?”

“I think that answer should be obvious.”

They sat quiet for so long after that Clark wondered if this was how this was going to be now. If Bruce was just going to kick him out and they were going to try once again to forget what just happened.

Clark imagined he’d slowly go mad if that were the case.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Clark blinked, “Hurt me?”

“Yes,” Bruce moved to sit back up and grimaced when he started combing his hair back down, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you either.”

“But we will.”

Clark nodded, “That’s what happens when you’re close to someone. You hurt them sometimes. It’s just a part of life Bruce. We can’t avoid contact with loved ones just to avoid being hurt.”

“I can’t—” Bruce sucked in a short breath, “I can’t lose you.”

“Bruce—”

“I’m serious Clark,” Bruce rasped, “I can’t lose you. You’re one of the only good things in my life and I just—I can’t lose you. If this fails, I can’t lose you.”

“If this fails—you mean you want to try?”

Bruce shrugged his shoulders in a helpless motion, “I don’t see any other way.”

Clark laughed, “I’m glad to hear how happy you sound about it.”

“You know damn skippy I’m not happy about any of this.”

“No,” Clark smiled, letting himself savor the soft delicate glow in his middle that was starting to spread rapidly to all his limbs. “But you will be happy. I can promise you that.”

Bruce lifted a brow, “Awfully confident in yourself, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. And you like it.”

“Maybe.”

Clark smirked, then reached over and grasped Bruce’s hand to wind their fingers together, “So, stop me if this is the wrong thing to say, but I feel like we’ve got a few years-worth of sexual tension between us and I was thinking—”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Clark’s mouth suddenly felt desert dry. “You mean, now? Like right now? You really want to?”

Bruce’s mouth tipped at the corner, flickers of the playboy making him look coy, “I mean, I’d rather be in bed for the first time, but whatever is most comfortable for you.”

“Fuck.”

Bruce shook his head, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Clark didn’t offer a warning, because he knew Bruce would balk. He merely leaned over, then scooped Bruce up like he was nothing at all. Like he wasn’t a six-foot three and two-hundred-pound man. It snapped the sauce right out of Bruce’s eyes and managed to garner a shocked choke.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, “I should. But I can’t right now. All the blood has diverted south and I’m making naturally poor decisions. Maybe in the morning.”

“So, I’m staying the night?”

Bruce’s brows lifted as they started up the stairs, “Aren’t you?”

“Just making sure.”

Bruce’s arms wound around Clark’s neck at that. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be reassuring but it was. When Clark kicked open Bruce’s bedroom and headed straight for the bed, Bruce was taut as a bow again, his breathing so fast he sounded just a tad panicked.

“We don’t have to.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then—”

“Are you sure? Please be sure,” Bruce’s eyes snapped closed and he took a few deep breaths, “Be sure Clark.”

“Bruce,” Clark sealed his mouth over Bruce’s, lingering in the kiss until his toes curled and he was lightheaded, “I’m sure. More than sure.”

“OK,” Bruce nodded, his expression turning from anxious to hungry so quickly it made Clark want to super speed out of their clothes and just get to it. But he wanted this to be special. He wanted to take their time.

“If I tell you something, are you going to freak out?”

Bruce frowned, “That’s not exactly a fair question.”

“Not really. But I want to say this, before we—”

Bruce stared, “Have sex?”

 “Yes,” Clark swallowed thickly, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. Bruce was sitting on the edge of the mattress and it wouldn’t take much to push him down. It wouldn’t take much to peel him out of that black t-shirt or those faded soft jeans. “But I want to say this first. And I don’t want you to freak out and ruin everything.”

Bruce sighed, “Clark, just say it.”

“Alright—” he licked his lips, “I love you.”

 “Oh.”

 “Oh?”

Bruce shrugged, “If that’s what you’re worried about, there’s no need. I love you too.”

Saying something as pivotal as a declaration of love shouldn’t have been delivered in such a blasé tone. It shouldn’t have made Clark want to laugh as much as it made him want to get emotional and cry. But it did. It completed something in his chest that made the world make just a little bit more sense with those words existing between them.

And Bruce had no idea how important that was to Clark. Or he did, and was incredibly good at hiding it.

Clark couldn’t make himself care.

“You are—so, so—” Clark bit his lip, then gave into the urge and did push Bruce down onto the mattress, pinning him easily, “So frustrating.”

“I’ll always be.”

 Challenge skirted around something impossibly soft and warm in Bruce’s gaze.

 “I’m counting on it.”

Bruce’s rumble of laughter was felt all the way to Clark’s toes.  


End file.
